


Touch

by Emotionalsorbet



Category: Avengers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Multi, Senses, Touch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-26
Updated: 2015-08-26
Packaged: 2018-04-17 05:36:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4654323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emotionalsorbet/pseuds/Emotionalsorbet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They say your soul mate brings out the best and worst in you. It's why, when you first meet them, you're introduced to a new realm of things. There's pain. There's sadness. There's joy, and love. It's a great thing to experience the feelings that come along with the encounter. But Tony Stark isn't too certain that he ever will.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Touch

**Author's Note:**

> First time attempting at a soul mate short. Tell me what you think?

Tony Stark would never admit to googling the senses. Of course, and despite his acclaimed ignorance on the subject, he knows plenty more than the average soul. For example: he understands the simple concepts such as the four humans are born right into--there's taste, smell, sight, hearing, and something Wikipedia seemed to slip up on-- _touch_. He's never quite experienced it on previous occasions, because, and thinking logically, how is he supposed to? After all, the internet did say it took another individual to trigger the missing ability.

He asked Rhodey about it once, driven by curiosity to understand the foundations of the missing sense better. The explanation he was provided with didn't do very much to aid his understanding, however, and despite this, he did obtain the word _feel_ into his vocabulary.

Later that night he searched it, and, while on the phone with his all time best friend Clint Barton, excitedly rambled off the definition attached to the word.

"Verb," he read,"used with object--felt, feeling. 1. to perceive or examine by touch. 2.to have a sensation of (something), other than by sight, hearing, taste, or smell: to feel a toothache.--wait, _what_? What the hell is a toothache?"

"Heard its unpleasant," Clint confirmed, scribbling down the answer to his math problem. "Skip over it. What else does it say?"

"Right, um--it's--3. to find or pursue (one's way) by touching, groping. 4. to be or become conscious of." Tony's voice trailed off as he scrolled down the page. Clint grew impatient.

"Not helping. Find something useful, will you? Something that doesn't have touch in the meaning."

Tony frowned, because really, each variation was all based around the word. Eventually, though, he came across one. "Here's--number seven: to have a particular sensation or impression of (often used reflexively and usually followed by an adjunct or complement)."

There was a moment of silence, leaving Tony to wonder if anyone had even been on the other line. "Clint?" He asked.

"Still here." Came the response, but it was hidden under the crinkling of papers.

"What does--am I on speaker?"

"Yeah. You're good, though. I'm the only one here."

"Oh, okay. What does, uh, adjunct mean?"

"Beats me." He paused, and suddenly there was a faint _click_ , "Did you say sensation?"

"I did. Why?"

Clint's voice dropped to a whisper. Tony presumed he'd taken a break from his homework. "Alright, so I was talking to Bucky on my way home--"

"Bucky _Barnes_? Isn't he an eighth grader?"

"Forget about his age for a minute. He's awesome. And get this--he was talking about this _girl_ \--Molly, I think. But then again, it could have been Mary. I don't remember. Anyway, MollyMary and him have had this thing going on, they're like super close and go out and stuff. Text all the time. Call each other--"

"We're super close, and I call you nearly every day."

"It's not like that." He sighed, "Listen, Bucky said they _kissed_. When I asked him about it, his cheeks turned pink too, so I know it was real."

"He could have been lying." "He wasn't. Are you even hearing what I'm saying? His cheeks _changed_ color. It's real."

"Geez," Tony said, tucking his legs into a cross-legged position. "I'm not accusing the guy of anything. I believe you-- _him_. Its just--"

A creak from somewhere to his left stole away the last part of his sentence. He turned toward it, quite surprised to find his mother standing in the doorframe. Her hand was on the knob, but her eyes were far more delighted by the sight of her only son attempting to conceal the phone behind his back. "I hope your getting ready for bed. It's a school night. You know the rules."

He nodded. Maria raised an eyebrow. "Alright," she took a step back, cautiously. "Lights out at nine. Oh, and tell Clint I say hello."

Tony held his breath, eyes searching for some sort of suspicion in her expression. When she turned to leave, Tony exhaled in relief, stumbling to his feet in order to shut the door from its ajar position.

"Tony? You didn't fall asleep on me again, did you?"

There was shouting coming from the center of his bed. He jumped toward it, belly flopping onto the mattress and hand scooping up the device quickly. "When have I _ever_ fallen asleep on you?"

"Does Tuesday ring a bell? Or how about--"

"That's not fair! I didn't sleep at _all_ Monday night, and you know that." Tony scrubbed a hand down his face, "Just, get on with Bucky's story. I want to hear the rest of it before curfew."

"You're sure you're not too tired? I can always tell you tomorrow..."

"Clint, _please_. It's only eight forty-five. Now, c'mon, out with it. You'll forget if you wait."

In all fairness, Bucky's story seemed to line up with the blog he'd stumbled onto (don't ask), right up to the point where a cluster of butterflies seemed to swarm around in the pit of his stomach. The specific description made Tony a bit uncomfortable, because, _what_? Clint mentioned it being a metaphor, using the way the ground feels under the constant thump of a runners feet to better demonstrate the literal meaning. Had Clint used a different synonym for the term feeling, Tony might have grasped the concept, but being that he hadn't, he could really only make the best of it.

He furrowed his eyebrows, biting hard on the nail of his thumb. "So, it's like, like being stomped on?"

Apparently, it very much wasn't. Clint was flustered at the initial proposition of the question, fumbling for for statements that would better present the idea. After a minute or two of fruitless attempts, he'd given up the aspect for the blush Bucky exhibited on the shortcut. And _okay_ , sure, feel was one addition to his vocabulary. But _blush_? Certainly Bucky was just messing with them.

Overall, blush was a strange word. "Kind of like heat in your cheeks," Clint explained. "You know, like, when you eat something really, _really_ spicy and the room instantly becomes a thousand degrees hotter."

Tony shook his head--he didn't eat spicy foods, and he most definitely never felt the _sensation_ of a blush.

-

The two of them skimmed through junior high, completely clueless and blindly groping for some sort of romance (another word Bucky talked about quite often). High school followed quickly as well, proving solely that Clint was no more qualified to properly introduce the fifth sense to Tony than he was back in the fifth grade. In fact, Clint wasn't fully informed of the reality of touch himself until their freshman year of college.

"It was an accident," Natalie-- _Natasha_? shrugged. "He got himself in a dangerous situation, and I was dumb enough to pull him out."

From what Tony could gather, there was an incident concerning a bar Clint snuck into, and possibly a few shattered beers (Quite honestly, he's not all that sure, as he was only half listening). It was one of those occasions where both parties had a fake ID in play, labeled under a name not at all corresponding to their face. He's pretty certain that Natasha started the fight, or maybe it was Molly--was Bucky even there? Anyway, someone had the bright idea to throw the first punch, and Clint had the brighter idea of throwing the second.

"Terrible, terrible timing," Clint added. "I had a face full of the counter, and hands full of glass shards. Don't feel a thing, but then, _bam_ , a hand is dragging me out the door by the sleeve of my shirt and suddenly I've got an awful feeling I've never felt before. It--it _hurt_."

"Turned around once, just to tell me that he wished he could've been _numb_ again. Little ungrateful, don't you think?" Natasha scoffed, leaning down to wrap her arms around Clint's shoulders. He glanced up, scrunching his nose.

"That's only because you handed me a bag of frozen peas from the back and told me to hang on until you could drop me off in the emergency room."

"Couldn't just leave you there, now could I?"

Clint smiled at the question, but Tony didn't _get_ it. Words that he never before encountered were being thrown into focus, and everyone excluding himself seemed to know the precise meaning right off the bat. A majority of the crowd belonged to Clint's group of friends from classes--Joe and Jeff and Susan? He wasn't too sure about names; however, and what he was certain about was the fact of being too embarrassed not to laugh in unison at the uncanny encounter. Clint would simply have to interpret the meanings later.

It had taken a while to isolate Clint from the lot of them, because really, Tony was far too silent during the course of the conversation to actually slip in a reasoning to get Clint alone. Most of the crowd were genuine couples, all whom had found their better half somewhere down the line (the idea of _how_ is still a bit fuzzy--after all, they were only nineteen). There was about two or three who were still searching, whom refused to engage in absolutely anything if a spark wasn't felt on the first date. He couldn't argue with that logic, being that he himself had yet to locate someone fit to his own self.

When he and Clint did finally get around to speaking in private, it was on the drive home, and Tony had somehow lost the privilege of shotgun to Clint's date. She was wide awake at the time, and so Tony decided it better to hold off on the interrogation. Despite this, though, Clint felt it necessary to provide every ounce of knowledge he had on the subject.

"It was awful, Tony. Felt like my face was in the back of my skull, and my palms were split open. Still got the scar above my eyebrow," Clint shifted to face him, pointing to the faded injury with his left hand.

Natasha punched him in the shoulder, "Eyes on the road. If you can't narrate the story without nearly killing us, then I'll tell it myself."

"You positive you're good with that? Tony's clueless on most of it. He's a Single Pringle."

Moving his hands to hide his face, Tony cringed. "Oh my god."

"Keep cracking jokes like that one and you'll be joining him." She turned, "It's alright, I've got a friend who's yet to find the one. Knows most of the outcome, but can't exactly grasp it. I'm assuming that's your problem?"

"Sort of," Tony admitted. "I mean, the whole thing's still a bit fuzzy. Clint explained--"

"Well there's your problem. You've got a birdbrain describing the basis of this to you. Here, let me--"

Within an instant, Natasha was climbing into the back seat, and Tony was shuffling quickly to his left in order to make room. Clint shouted out plenty of qualms and commands to be careful as she worked, but nonetheless, the task was completed successfully in under ten seconds.

"Hold out your arm," she instructed.

Tony did as he was told, hesitantly raising his arm in front of him. The moment he had, Natasha placed her hand gently on his wrist. He stared at her, lost.

Raising an eyebrow, "You _can_ feel this, can't you?"

Tony nodded, and _yeah_ , he could feel it. After all, it wasn't a hard concept to comprehend.

"Alright, then. Tell me what it feels like."

He was at a loss for words--the touch wasn't like anything he ever had to describe in school. It wasn't green like tree, or complex like a calculus problem, rather, it was just--just _there_. No _sensations_ distinguished the specific anatomy from any other part of his body, and no colorful insects were fluttering around in the pit of his stomach.

"You can see that my hand is resting on you. You can perceive the contact, because your eyes read the situation. But if I asked you to close your eyes, would you be able to _feel_ the touch?"

Tony cast a look at her, though, and despite his hesitancy, allowed himself to blink his eyes shut for a moment longer than normal.

Natasha lifted her hand, moving to glide her knuckles down the length of Tony's bicep. "What does that _feel_ like, Tony?"

It was the word that bothered him. Over and over, again and again, the phrase was repeated-- _feel_ this, or _feel_ that. _How does this feel_? He had never been introduced to it formally, only through the sneaking of phones under the covers at midnight and through hearsay off Bucky Barnes, but never quite in a well thought out, informative talk.

In addition, his mother faithfully avoided the subject, leaving Tony to wonder if she had ever experienced the _sensations_ herself. Sure, she was married to his father, though, and running back over the idea, what could that have meant? After all, she didn't even seem to _flinch_ at the needle they gave her when she'd last given blood, which, as Clint had clarified, hurt quite a bit.

When he didn't answer, Clint chimed in, adding a detail he somehow expected Tony to relate. "Her hands are soft," he said, "gentle."

"I don't--" Tony tried, shaking his head.

"Can you tell that I'm there?" She asked.

"Yeah," he said, "I can--it's kind of heavy."

"What? That doesn't even--"

"He's talking about the weight when I rest my hand on him, Clint. That's how he knows I'm there. It's alright."

Tony opened his eyes when he detected a change in the touch--for a moment, it disappeared completely, and when it returned, it glided across his palm, moving up toward he edge of his finger.

"You see," Natasha continued, "once you've found your soul mate, _this_ will feel like more than just weight. It will feel light, _soft_."

Despite feeling nothing, Tony nodded, because surely, and being that Natasha had demonstrated such a reality, touch appeared to be something he could look forward to attaining.

-

With six years under his belt, and at least seven months passing since he last met up with Clint, Tony arrived at the conclusion that his soul mate had most likely been hit by a bus. Either that, or his ' _match made in heaven_ ' really enjoyed playing hard to get.

It was one of his worse nights in which he'd decided to head out to the nearest bar, wallowing in self pity and altogether wanting to drown in a beer. Luckily for him, a group of his friends were already seated with a brand new round, so he wouldn't be forced to take a seat alone. He'd tried to run, to leave before being seen.

" _Stark_?"

At the call, he'd frozen, cringing mentally prior to spinning slowly on his heel.

"You caught me," Tony smiled, hands up to return the hug Clint was rushing at him for.

There was quite a few other individuals hiding behind the width of Clint's shoulders, and when he moved, Tony caught a glimpse of them all, chatting away casually at a topic Natasha seemed to have suggested. All the comments were being aimed at her, but, and despite the attention, she found time to give a quick wave in Tonys direction. The gesture made him want to die a little less, because at least he would have known one person there.

Clint went down the line as they walked over, placing his left arm around Tonys shoulder while his right pointed out the missing pieces. "You know Nat," he said, "and Molly. Bucky."

Bucky nodded politely, but he was quick to face the blonde next to him.

"That's Steve, and Bruce is the one on the end. They're med students."

Tony gave him a look. "Explain to me how Clint Barton, out of all people, managed to get together with brain surgeons to-be." Clint shrugged, "Bucky did the calling, I just said I would tag along. And besides, him and Steve go way back." A frown--"I think."

Somehow, someway, Tony ended up on the opposite side of Bruce and completely opposite Clint. It wasn't as bad as a position as he had thought, especially since Bruce talked much more about interesting topics than Tony had ever been able to get out of Bucky. They spoke about chemistry, and appendectomy's and about some type of pharmaceuticals that didn't exactly sound realistic. Overall, though, it was a generally good time.

That was, until Molly gave off the illusion of being single.

Tony didn't catch most of what happened between the brunette and the ginormous blonde peering over the group, though, he did play witness to Natasha holding back Clint from getting involved. He; however, wasn't so fortunate.

Technically, the first punch belonged to Bucky, sending the group into a brawl with the crowd fresh in from outside. Tony hadn't planned on being a part of it initially, but by the end, he had gotten in a good two or three punches and obtained a matching fat lip as a souvenir.

A few more hits were taken on both sides, and really, the fight was pretty much over by then. The involved members were all beat down, or already retreating to the parking lot. Tony watched from afar as the end went down, observing as Steve lunged to take a swing at the guy who'd knocked him back a moment earlier. And _boy_ , could Steve swing. He stepped forward, arm moving quick, quick, quick, and straight into Tony.

Tony fumbled backwards, hands caught between reaching for the injury and reaching back to take off some of the brunt Bruce would face from the weight of him. Everyone stared as he fell, eyes wide.

Steve gawked, clenching and unclenching his fist before risking a glance at Tony.

Tony placed his hand over the newly forming bruise, " _Ow_."

-

It took a while before Tony could fully comprehend the idea of the senses. Sure, he knew the basics--there was taste, hearing, sight, smell, and something Wikipedia seemed to slip up on-- _touch_.

The fifth sense was a tricky thing, because, and with it came emotions, _feelings_. Touches that once seemed to be nothing danced across his skin in the early mornings, and tender kisses graced his lips ever so gently. Google could never help him out with understanding the experience--after all, how could it? The Internet did state that it took another individual to kickstart the new perspective. It had something to do with--with _love_. With love came _fear_ , and _pain_ , and _sadness_ , and _laughter_ , and joy, and _oh_ , Tony adored it.

However, and on that first night, he thought it was nothing more than a load of absolute bull.

Tony sighed. Everything--everything, well, it didn't _feel_ right. He could locate the cut under his eye without touching it, and the constant thump in his ears caused him to think that he might explode. Steve didn't say much about it, but certainly he had to be feeling the same way. After all, his hand had screwed up its fair share of faces.

The whole thing was sort of a déjà vu for Tony, because, and in recalling Clint's first encounter with Natasha, the events seemed to follow the same path. Right down to the idea of the silent ride up to the emergency room. Although they got a few strange looks as they walked in, nothing could quite beat the idea of Tony answering the ' _Woah. What happened to you_?'s with a simple, full hearted.

"My soulmate."


End file.
